Mockingjay Alternative Ending
by Alexbee123
Summary: The ending you want to the series you love. DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO SUZANNE COLLINS.


Mockingjay – Alternative Ending

This starts right after Katniss killed Coin. What I have done is elaborated on what the author wrote and added a lot of my own. I wrote this for me because I was so unsatisfied from the real ending. My version starts off basically the same but stick with it, i know it's long, but I think you'll like my ending! At least I hope so! ENJOY!

**Chapter 27**

Boggs' final words ring in my ears. My head is reeling with what I had just done...but it had to be done. I know that now... I think I always knew that. Just like Boggs told me...It was what I _came to do. _

In the stunned reaction that follows, I'm aware of only one sound. Snow's laughter. An awful gurgling cackle accompanied by an eruption of foamy blood when the coughing begins. I see him bend forward, spewing out his life, until the guards block him from my sight. As the gray uniforms begin to converge on me, I think of what my brief future as the assassin of Panem's new president hold. The interrogation, probably torture, certain public execution.

I will, yet again, have to say my final goodbyes to the handful of people who still care. The prospect of facing them again is inconceivable, my heart is empty, gone, and that decides it.

"Good night," I whisper to the bow in my hand and feel it go still. I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta's eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlick. "Let me go" I snarl at him, trying to pull my arm from his grasp.

"I can't," he says. As they pull me away from him, I feel the pocket ripped from my sleeve, see the deep violet pill fall to the ground, watch Cinna's last gift get crunched under a guard's boot. I transform into a wild animal, kicking, clawing, biting, doing whatever I can to free myself from this web of hands as the crowd pushes in. The guards lift me up above the fray, where I continue to thrash as I'm conveyed over the crush of people.

I start screaming for Gale. I can't find him in the throng, but he will know what I want. A good clean shot to end it all. Only there's no arrow. Is it possible he can't see me? No. Above us, on the giant screens places around the City Circle, everyone can watch the whole thing being played out. He sees, he knows, but he doesn't follow through. Just as I didn't when he was captured. Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us. I'm on my own.

I have lost all hope and then I hear it before it hits me, the gunshot of the bullet that will certainly, hopefully take my life. Gale came through. It hits me in my left shoulder, inches from my heart. I should feel something, pain coursing through my body, my veins exploding, but I feel nothing. The arms holding me afloat, lower me to the ground. The last thing I see is Peeta's face appear over mine, yelling something to me I can't make out because of the shock, then I mercifully sink into the blackness that has been waiting for me.

I come to. I can't lift my eyelids. I start moaning to let me go, to let me die, but I am so weak the words are barely a whisper. It would just be better if I die here...now. But then I quickly fade back into the dark.

When I wake again, I still can't lift my eyelids. I try to sit up but my wrist and feet are bound to a bed. It dawns on me that I am not dead, I am still, for no reason, breathing. I want to die. I have caused so much, too much, pain to everyone. I have lost Prim, I've lost everything. I try to sit up again but I feel a hand on my shoulder forcing me down.

Then I hear a voice that's all to familiar, "It's okay, sweetheart.". My eyes shoot open, I look up to see Haymitch staring down on me in his drunken haze. "How are you feeling?" He has sad eyes as he's talking to me.

I ignore his question and his gaze. "When is my execution?", my voice is barely more than a whisper.

"There isn't one", he starts to remove the restraints. "We held a trail while you've been recovering and it was declared that you were temporarily insane. You have to move back to District 12 and live there until your doctor says your stable. So it could be worse."

I have to go back to 12, my old home with the memories and destruction that surrounds it. Nothing could be worse. At least it will be easier to die there without making a scene.

"I'm not sure you know this but...Coin was responsible for killing your sister.", says Haymitch.

"I know" I croak out.

"You did? But..how?" I am too weak to talk and can only get out one word. "Boggs..."

Haymitch has taken off all the restraints and place them on my bedside table. "Coin had people working for her, they knew her plan, including Boggs. He must have warned you?" I nod in agreement, dizziness clouds me, so I rest my head back on the pillow.

"One of Coins men came forward telling us everything after you killed her; he showed us Coins plans. To make a long story short, he told us she authorized the parachute bombs, that it was her idea and decision. She never wanted a free country she wanted to rule it in Snow's place...So you figured it out and that's why you agreed to the return of The Games? So you could get in her good graces so you'd have the opportunity to..." I don't answer. There is no need.

Haymitch breaks the silence. "We held an election for the new president...Paylor won. Now we begin to rebuild the city, the country."

"How long have I been out?" My voice is monotone, like a machine.

"About 2 weeks. Once the doctors saw you were awakening, they put you in a chemically induced coma. We thought it was best that you were sedated, so you wouldn't do anything rash."

2 weeks, why not two months or better yet two years. Anything to escape this place, at least I only have to endure it a little longer. I should be happy, happy that I'm not arrested, not about to be killed, but happy is something I don't know anymore, something I know I'll never know again.

A thought comes to my the forefront of my brain. I was shot by a gun...Gale rarely uses guns. "Who shot me"?

"One of Coins' men, Gale took him out right after. The others are imprisoned now—".

There is a knock on the door and my mother comes in. "I'll leave you to be." he says and walks towards the door.

My mom and I lock eyes, I hear the door close as she walks over to my bed. I sit up and she puts her arms around me. I try to feel her arms, her hug, the protection that I have wanted my whole life from her. But there is nothing. It is too late.

"I am so proud of you." I don't know what to say so I just continue to hug her. "I love you." She whispers, still holding me. I hear her voice muffled and can feel tears falling onto my shoulder.

"I can't go back to 12 with you." My mother says through the intense tears coming down.

I don't want to tell her that this will be our last hug, I don't want to take this last moment away from her. She hugs me with more pressure and I try my best to return it. It is all I can do to force the words out, "I know."

I remain in the hospital for another week. I just have the soreness where the bullet hit me to remind me I am still alive. But I'm not, not really—I am just there, numb. On the doctors orders, no one but my mother and Haymitch can come to visit me, but I only see my mother. Right after I am discharged at the end of the week, my mother kisses me goodbye, our last goodbye. Haymitch, who looks as drunk as ever, is here to escort me back to District 12.

Haymitch and Plutarch sit across from me. In a few moments we're airborn in the hovercraft. I've never seen Plutarch in such a good mood. He's positively glowing. "You must have a million questions!" When I don't respond, he answers them anyway. After I got shot, there was pandemonium. When the ruckus died down, they discovered Snow's body, still tethered to the post. Opinions differ on whether he choked to death while laughing or was crushed by the crowd. But no one really cares.

Plutarch was appointed secretary of communications, which means he sets the programming for the airwaves. The first big televised event was my trial, in which he was also a star witness. In my defense, of course. Although, most of the credit for my exoneration must be given to Dr. Aurelius, who apparently is the one who presented me as a hopeless, shell-shocked lunatic. One condition for my release is that I'll continue under his care, although it will have to be by phone because he'd never live in a forsaken place like 12, and I'm confined there until further notice.

The truth is, no one quite knows what to do with me now that the war's over. Plutarch asks me if I'd like to perform on a new singing program he's launching in a few weeks. "Something upbeat would be good", he says. I don't tell him I have absolutely no desire to be a part of this world, let alone a singing show.

We land briefly in District 3 to drop off Plutarch. He's meeting with Beetee to update the technology on the broadcast system. His parting words to me are "Don't be a stranger. "

When we're back among the clouds, I look at Haymitch. "So why are you going back to 12?"

"They can't seem to find a place for me in the Capitol either, " he says. At first, I don't question this. But doubts begin to creep in. Haymitch hasn't assassinated anyone, he's not a threat to society. He could go anywhere. If he's coming back to 12, it's because he's been ordered to.

"You have to look after me, don't you?" He shrugs. Then I realize what it means. "It's because my mother's not coming back, isn't it? "

He nods. "Do you want to know who else won't be there?"

"No, " I say. "I want to be surprised. " My mind starts to wonder who is going back to District 12, but I stop myself because no one will ever come back and even if they do I will be long gone.

Like a good mentor, Haymitch makes me eat a sandwich and then pretends he believes I'm asleep for the rest of the trip. He busies himself going through every compartment on the hovercraft, finding the liquor, and stowing it in his bag. It's night when we land on the green of the Victor's Village.

Half of the houses have lights in the windows, including Haymitch's and mine. I glance over and sure enough _his_ lights are out. Someone has built a fire in my kitchen. I sit in the rocker before it. "Well, see you tomorrow, " says Haymitch.

As the clinking of his bag of liquor bottles fades away, I whisper, "I doubt it. " I am unable to move from the chair. The rest of the house looms cold and empty and dark. I pull an old shawl over my body and watch the flames. I guess I sleep, because the next thing I know, it's morning and Greasy Sae's banging around at the stove.

She makes me eggs and toast and sits there until I've eaten it all. We don't talk much. Her little granddaughter, the one who lives in her own world, takes a bright blue ball of yarn from my mother's knitting basket. Greasy Sae tells her to put it back, but I say she can have it. No one in this house can knit anymore.

After breakfast, Greasy Sae does the dishes and leaves, but she comes back up at dinnertime to make me eat again. I don't know if she's just being neighborly or if she's on the government's payroll, but she shows up twice every day. She cooks, I consume. I try to figure out my next move. There's no obstacle now to taking my life. But I seem to be waiting for something.

Sometimes the phone rings and rings and rings, but I don't pick it up. Haymitch never visits. Maybe he changed his mind and left, although I suspect he's just drunk. No one comes but Greasy Sae and her granddaughter.

After weeks or maybe months of solitary confinement, they seem like a crowd. One day, over breakfast, I try to ignore it but curiosity gets the best of me. I try to form the words, my mouth is so out of practice, I can only manage a whisper, "Where did Gale go?" A deep, hoarse sound comes out, Greasey Sae gets chills as if a cold draft came through. She looks up at me startled that I talked. I try not to return the surprise.

"District Two. Got some fancy job there. I see him now and again on the television, " she says. I dig around inside myself, trying to register anger, hatred, longing. I find nothing. "Spring's in the air today. You ought to get out, " she says. "Go hunting. " I haven't left the house. I haven't even left the kitchen except to go to the small bathroom a few steps off of it. I'm in the same clothes I left the Capitol in. What I do is sit by the fire. Stare at the unopened letters piling up on the mantel. "I don't have a bow. " "Check down the hall, " she says.

After she leaves, I consider a trip down the hall. Rule it out. But after several hours, I go anyway, walking in silent sock feet, so as not to awaken the ghosts. In the study, where I had my tea with President Snow, I find a box with my father's hunting jacket, our plant book, my parents' wedding photo, the spile Haymitch sent in, and the locket Peeta gave me in the clock arena. The two bows and a sheath of arrows Gale rescued on the night of the firebombing lie on the desk. I put on the hunting jacket and leave the rest of the stuff untouched.

I fall asleep on the sofa in the formal living room. A terrible nightmare follows, where I'm lying at the bottom of a deep grave, and every dead person I know by name comes by and throws a shovel full of ashes on me. It's quite a long dream, considering the list of people, and the deeper I'm buried, the harder it is to breathe. I try to call out, begging them to stop, but the ashes fill my mouth and nose and I can't make any sound. Still the shovel scrapes on and on and on... I wake with a start.

Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I'm pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes.

I stop in my tracks. Out of breathe, feeling weak. "You came back, " I crack, I can barely talk I'm so out of practice.

He looks well, thin and covered with burn scars like me. His eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He's frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. "Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," Peeta says. "He said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone." He looks concerned as he speak to me. I can't talk or move. _He _is here. With those eyes unmoving from mine.

"I wanted to see you in the hospital but..."

"you weren't allowed." I finish for him.

I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it's matted into clumps. "What are you doing?"

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up...for her, " he says. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the word rose registers. I'm about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent. I turn and run back into the house, locking the door behind. But the evil thing is inside, not out.

Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell's very faint but still laces the air. It's there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow's greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Back upstairs, I throw open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of Snow's stench. But it still lingers, on my clothes and in my pores. I strip, and flakes of skin the size of playing cards cling to the garments. Avoiding the mirror, I step into the shower and scrub the roses from my hair, my body, my mouth. My fingers run across my shoulder, the soreness went away ages ago but the scar will always remain. Bright pink and tingling, I find something clean to wear.

I open the door, I notice the sunlight, the air, the clouds. It all seems so normal, like how it was before. I walk to the side out the house to see if Peeta is still there. Sure enough he is. He looks up, we lock eyes. He nods to the plants and the shovels. I pick one of each up and together we plant a garden. We don't talk, we just work until the sun goes down.

We are walking silently around to the front door, when it hits me. I stop in my tracks. He looks at me again with those concerned eyes. We have not shared one word since our first conversation, but just him being here, his eyes gazing into mine, speak a million words. Pain spreads over me like a cancer and I explode in tears.

Peeta's there in an instant and puts his arms around me before I collapse. I feel a rush of something at his touch, but the pain takes over whatever it was. He lifts me up and carries me into my house to the living room sofa, where he sits down, with me on his lap, as I cry. I cry for Prim, Cinna, Finnick...I cry for all the people who died because of me. I cry until I fall asleep.

When I wake, I feel the pain, like a twisting knife in my gut. I have uncorked the bottle of emotion and all I feel is the pain, the sadness, that's all there is anymore.

Peeta arms are still around me. I haven't felt him hold me, anyone hold me in so long, it feels foreign. I look up to his face, his rugged jaw, his lips, his eyes. Which are now staring into mine. I start, I didn't realize he was awake and that I was staring at him. "Do I have drool on my face?" Peeta says, half asleep, but there is a twinge of a smile. I surprise myself when I return the half-smile, something I haven't done in recent memory.

My stomach growls. "Hungry?" Peeta asks. Hunger pains, I haven't felt hungry in so long. I nod. He gets up and makes us breakfast. Peeta stays to make sure I eat everything, which wasn't necessary because I wanted to eat. We don't exchange many words, I don't know what to say. After we eat he gets up from the table, he looks at me with sad, serious blue eyes. "It wasn't your fault", he says. He turns and heads out the door.

I stare after him for a while until Greasy Sae comes and I eat a second breakfast. I decide to go hunting. I arm myself with my bow and arrows and head out to town with Greasy Sae. I see District 12 is slowly being cleaned and rebuilt, but there is still so much to be done. I see many have returned and some are working on plowing the ashes into the earth and planting food. There are machines from the Capitol that are being used to break ground for a new factory. Greasy Sae tells me it will be used to make medicine. When we pass her home we part ways with a stiff nod. I walk on, as I pass the meadow I see there is new grass growing.

The fence isn't charged anymore and has been propped up with long branches to keep out the predators. But old habits die hard. I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job. It hits me that he has let me go. I expect to be mad, angry but I feel relief, knowing that he has moved on, knowing that the pain of his love for me is...gone.

"Goodbye, Gale." I whisper into the air.

I started picking up the phone when it rings and I have my sessions with Dr. Aurelius. Slowly, with many lost days, I become conscious of time. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning. I remember my family's plant book, the place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory, and a thought springs to mind. I tell Dr. Aurelius my idea and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol.

Suddenly my life has purpose again, I wake up with the motivation to get out of bed to write. I write down everything I remember about everyone I know who has died. I go hunting in the afternoons. Bringing game back that Greasy Sae cooks. A week into my new found survival scheme, I start to gather pictures to place at the top of the page of the certain person. I rummage through the house gathering photos of my father, of Prim. But there are so many people I don't have pictures of. I go to town, I send letters to ask for pictures, but I only gather a few more. I call my mother for the first time, she cries she's so happy, I asks her if she can find some pictures of the lost and send them to me. Even so, there are so many who just don't have pictures.

I've been avoiding it, I'm not sure why, but I can't any longer. I'm on his door step, breathing heavy. I knock. No answer-I knock again. Still no answer. I put my hand on the door nob, turn it and walk in. I smell something wonderful cooking-I make my way to the kitchen. He's taking out bread from the oven, bending over with his back to me.  
"Hey..." I say tentatively.

He jumps and turns, surprised. The bread is gently laying on top of his hands that are covered with mitts. "Katniss! Hi! I..ugh didn't hear you come in." He puts the bread on the counter.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to intrude...I—I'll go" I turn and am about to walk to the door.

"WAIT! I just wasn't expecting you. Please stay! I made cheese bread!" He's smiling at me, knowing I can't turn down his cheese bread. The thought crosses my mind that the bread was always intended for me.

"I'm writing a book." I tell him as I sit down at the table. While we eat I go into details about the book and he seems genuinely interested. "I was hoping that you could sketch all the people who I don't have pictures for?" I ask.

There is a long silence, I can see his brain thinking. "I'll do it. But can you do me a favor?" I agree, not knowing exactly what I'm agreeing to. He leaves the room and comes back with something in his hands. He hands it to me, I look down and see his family. "Can you add them in your book?" he asks, as tears come down his cheeks.

I'm speechless. I have been so selfish thinking only of myself when Peeta has been going through the same thing. We sit there for a while looking at the picture. A rush of sadness, so intense, comes over me and before I can stop myself, my mouth has already spluttered out the words.

"They're dead." I look up at Peeta, whose still silently crying. He nods and I feel the tears start falling from my eyes. "Did we do the right thing?" He reaches to take my hand but pulls back.

"If we didn't do what we did, things would have never changed. We would still be slaves to the government."

"But was it worth it?" I ask. This time he doesn't hesitate and he takes my hand. The same feeling I felt before at his touch comes again.

"Children will no longer live in the fear of their parents or siblings or friends being killed or of the Games. They'll be free. Everyone who died knew what they were dying for. And they would tell you, tell us, that sacrificing their lives, was worth it." We lock eyes. I want to tell him something but I'm not sure what, so I just sit there, his hand in mine, until our tears have past and it's time to go.

The next day, I wake up to a knocking on the door. I open the door and see Peeta with bread in one hand and his sketch pad in the other. "Hi, I thought we could start sketching today."

I'm surprised seeing him so ready and excited to start. I lead him to the sofa, he puts the bread on the coffee table and gets his sketch pad ready. I start describing the person while he draws. We eat all the bread before Greasy Sae comes and makes us breakfast, which we also eat. We spend the day doing sketch after sketch. Greasy Sae comes and makes us dinner, eying us with a knowing sort of look, though I'm not sure about what.

After we eat, Peeta stands, "Well...I'll see you tomorrow", "Okay" I answer. Sure enough I do and it becomes a daily routine.

We don't speak much except when describing the person and stories of their lives. Finnick's picture arrives. We start his page—telling his story, thinking of the son he will never see grow up. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm telling the story about when Finnick came out in only the hospital robe, revealing his butt. We both start laughing, then I start crying. Peeta reaches his hand over mine.

"It's okay to laugh, to remember the good times—they'd want you to." I can't get over the electrifying current running through my body, originating where his hand is touching mine. I'm not sure what to make of this feeling because it's not the pain.

Day after day of writing in the book, of telling stories about the people who are in it, I feel the tight rope in my stomach loosen and I feel it being replaced, filled with that same feeling but I don't know what it is.

We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch, finally joins us, and adds twenty-three years of tributes he was force to mentor. I expect him to be drunk, but he seems more sober than ever. I finally realize why, when I see him spending a lot of time with his old house keeper, Hazelle Hawthorne, Gales mother. Haymitch finally looks like he's leaving the past in the past.

A month passes and the book is almost done. We are sitting on my bed, side by side, working on the book when it dawns on me what this means and horror floods over me.

"I guess, once we're done, they'll be no more reason for you to come over...". I've gotten so used to seeing him everyday I can't imagine not seeing him.

"Well, I'll just need to come up with excuses." I look up to him, studying his eyes, and I see him—the boy with the bread—smiling down at me. I feel a hurricane of emotion stirring inside me, I'm afraid I'm going to start crying again, but before I can leave the room to hide my tears, I start laughing.

I'm laughing like I've never laughed before in my life. Peeta looks befuddled to my eruption of laughter but then he starts laughing himself. I turn to face him, sitting on my knees and throw my arms around his neck and a smiles forms on my face, a genuine smile. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. Our faces are inches from one another. The last time his face was this close to mine I had just been...

"What was it you were saying to me right after I was shot, before I blacked out?" I ask.

Peeta's blue eyes are fixed on mine, "I told you to...to stay with me. That I can't lose you again."

I have no words, there is only one thing I can, one thing I want, to do to show how much those words actually mean something. I lean in and kiss him. The world falls away and it is just me and Peeta. I feel the knot completely release, all that pain that used to overpower me is now replaced by the touch of his hands on my back, the touch of his lips on mine.

Night falls and we finish the book. No one will be forgotten.

I go to the bathroom, change into my nightshirt and brush my teeth. I go back to my room and see Peeta in the midst of pulling his shirt over his head. I stop. I can't help but stare at his body, that same odd feeling rushes over me, I realize my mouth is open and I quickly shut it before his head appears.

I am suddenly conscious that all I am wearing is a nightshirt. We have slept in the same bed numerous times, although not recently and this time I feel vulnerable...exposed. I meet his eyes, I have that yearning in me and before I think of what I am doing, I kiss him. I pull away abruptly, afraid I might have crossed a boundary, that I did something wrong...though I'm not sure what exactly. I gather the courage and look up to him again, I wasn't expecting the look in the eyes that were locked on mine...those of pure joy. He leans down and kisses me. I feel a shiver up my spine as I feel the pressure of his mouth once more.

His hands move to the small of my back, he presses me into his body with such strength but still with his gentleness. We fall onto the bed, with our lips locked, our bodies pressing into each other. I feel the heat of his touch spreading over, making me dizzy.

My hands take control and run through his hair. Our lips part for only a second, to catch a breath, before he is back kissing me more passionately then ever and I succumb with just as much passion. I don't know what I'm thinking only that I don't want this to end. I want to remain with him, always. We pull apart for another breath. Again, only for a split second do our lips part, but it feels like an eternity—so much longer than before...and far too long. He cups my cheek with his left hand, with the other he finds my hand and laces his fingers through.

I realize that what I need is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

I'm not sure how much time has past, minutes...hours...days? His arms are still wrapped around me, I feel his body rise and sink; his breath in my ears, finally starting to steady. That feeling has spread over me again and I realize what it is. I think he has gone off to sleep, but I have to tell him. He has to know.

"Peeta? ...Peeta?" I shake him awake.

His body stirs to life at once. "Is everything okay? What's wrong?" He's about to sit up, when I gently place my hand on his chest to keep him laying down.

I prop myself up on my elbow and gaze down to him. "I love you."

His smile instantly appears on his face, it's contagious and I feel a smile appear on mine.

"How long?" He asks, as he runs his fingers through my hair.

"Always."

Assurance spreads over me and I know that what I have said is completely true, it's as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders. My bottle of emotions has been uncorked, though I now feel the bad, the pain, the sadness, I am also now able to let in the good. And the good is finally taking over. I sink into him, bathing in his arms. I used to be lost, dead inside. Now I am lost in something else, in the feeling I have inside me, something I have denied for far too long, not wanting others to make my choice but for me to choose and I've chosen...the only real choice. Peeta—the bread boy. My bread boy...my Peeta.

I need to make sure, I need to hear him say it. "You love me? Real or not real?"

His hand moves to tuck the tendrils behind my ear. "Real."


End file.
